The Confessional
by Corpus Delicti
Summary: “The customers came and went, changed and rotated, like a never-ending tide of drinkers and story-tellers, lovers and loveless…” Chapter One and Prologue up.
1. Prologue

**Title: **The Confessional

**Author: **Skye Firebane

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary: "**The customers came and went, changed and rotated, like a never-ending tide of drinkers and story-tellers, lovers and loveless…"

**Chapter: **Prologue

**Comments:** This fic is a little bittersweet collection of vignettes set in a bar on the East Bank of Haven. I rather like it; it's depressing and a little hopeful… and best read whilst listening to jazz. The prologue's short, but the chapters amount to more.

**Disclaimer:** Eoin Colfer + Stroke of Brilliance = Artemis Fowl. Skye Firebane + Stroke of Brilliance ≠ Artemis Fowl. He owns it. I don't. Enough said.

**Thanks to:** The PIC as per usual – The Book of Jude, Kitty Rainbow, Ophelia who is Insane, and the little wonder who read this for me (and provided me with slightly lewd Bebop manga scans), Flame Fairy.

***

**Prologue**

Jack Salvia's father had been a priest. His father's father had been a priest. His father's father's father had been a priest. In fact, the Salvias came from a long line of priests. From the day he was born, young Jack had been expected to follow in his ancestors' footsteps; study hard, graduate at the top, and join the Temple on the East Bank for a nice quiet life of chanting and incense waving. But apparently, Jack was not so intent on living a life of quiet near-solitude, and in the grandest fashion (on his seventy-seventh birthday), announced that he was opening up a bar.

Of course, there had been repercussions. Jack's father disowned him, for one. But it was alright with Jack. He was that sort of guy; easy going all the way to the marrow. He cruised through life like it was nobody's business, even when he was slumming it in a dumpster behind Spud's Spud Emporium. He was the kind of guy that made _everything look easy._

He'd stumbled across the perfect place for a bar on the way to the East Bank Temple; it was on the rougher side of the East Bank, the perfect haven for those career-driven types to down a few whilst moaning about their various failures in life. It was the sort of thing Jack dreamed about: to polish up glasses and listen lazily about the outside world while melancholic jazz played in the background. The price on the shop was a pretty penny, though, and it took some careful manoeuvring to get the cash to buy it. And it was a good thing no one at East Bank Temple lifted an eyebrow at the several kilos of gold spent on "The Confessional".

And so the name – and the irony – stuck.

The Confessional was quite popular with the East Bank crowd. Not the, "Oh-Dear-I've-Got-To-Buy-A-Bigger-Place-For-All-These-People" sort of popular, but the sort of popular where you could conduct your own conversation without being heard. This seemed to suit the patrons, plus there was live jazz on every Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. And Jack was always there, day or night, to lend you an ear and a drink on the house if you were looking depressed. Hell, he'd been there behind that bar for near thirty years. And he never tired of it, not once. The customers came and went, changed and rotated, like a never-ending tide of drinkers and story-tellers, lovers and loveless.

***


	2. Bloody Mary

**Title: **The Confessional

**Author: **Skye Firebane

**Rating: **PG-13

**Chapter Name: **Bloody Mary

**Chapter Summary:** "…Well, wasn't she a young up-and-coming? Tipped to make it to LEPRecon's Hall of Fame, she was. No matter how many tax dollars she blew, she was always gonna make it big in the end." Bloody Mary steps up to lament.

**Comments:** Mild language here, not too bad. Reviews are appreciated; my inbox would prefer to have any toasty flames: hors_e@hotmail.com. Bon appetit. 

**Disclaimer:** Eoin Colfer + Stroke of Brilliance = Artemis Fowl. Skye Firebane + Stroke of Brilliance ≠ Artemis Fowl. He owns it. I don't. Enough said.

**Thanks to:** The usuals… and my mother, who only initiated one physical memory dump during my time writing this.

***

**1. Bloody Mary**

Bloody Mary, she was. Day in, day out. Sometimes she nursed one for hours, one eye on the band, the other one on the celery stick as it swilled the stuff around and around in the glass. Sometimes she'd be so sloshed, or upset, that there was Bloody Mary all over the bar, and Jack would wrestle the glass from her hands and send her on her way. But most of the time she just watched the band, stared glassy-eyed. Jack never asked her name; she never seemed the talking type. So she had been known affectionately as Bloody Mary for quite some time, until one Friday night when business was slow and the jazz especially heady.

"D'you know what's great about being a fairy?" she asked after the polite smattering of applause that followed the end of the song; Jack turned from straightening the bottles on the rack and shook his head. A fleeting smile graced her fine features, and then her face was back to the usual expression of despair.

"You can live so many lives in one and when you come out the other end, the next generation won't know you for it." Her voice was hoarse, cracked. "It's grand, I tell you. Fucking _grand."_

Jack said nothing, and that was what he usually did, unless they asked him a question. The patrons generally wanted nothing but to talk and have someone listen. That was the good thing about Jack – he never talked to hear his own voice.

"Do you know who Captain Holly Short was?" Bloody Mary asked, taking a sip from her glass. She brought it back down to the bar with a thud, and for a moment stared at the band whilst Jack thought his answer over.

"No, ma'am, I can't say I have." Jack polished a glass with a clean linen cloth, waiting for her reply.

"Just goes to show," Bloody Mary said, a hint of a laugh at the back of her voice, "This Captain Holly, well, wasn't she a young up-and-coming? Tipped to make it to LEPRecon's Hall of Fame, she was. No matter how many tax dollars she blew, she was always gonna make it big in the end."

Jack put back the glass he was polishing and reached for a new one from the rack. In his hand, he turned it over, letting the light catch its faceted surface. There was a simple beauty about the way it could catch the light like that. For the moment, Bloody Mary had slipped into silence, tapping her foot in time to the music. The trumpet pulled the music into a crescendo, the piano wafting in lazy chromatics amidst the bass and percussion. The piece ended, cymbal clattering for what seemed an eternity, finally fading to the applause. Bloody Mary turned back to the bar.

"And then she went and blew it, didn't she, Jack?" She downed the last dregs of her drink, slamming the glass down as she exhaled sharply. "Another one, thanks."

Jack turned to the rack of alcohol above his head and took down a bottle of clear spirits. Fairy alcohol is much the same as human alcohol, though it is brewed with magic and makes for a more potent drink. No matter how much the Temples preached about alcohol being a Mud Man's evil, there was always the fact The People had been doing it for so much longer, even if some of the more avant-garde recipes were stolen from above ground.

"Thank you," Bloody Mary said as she watched Jack garnish the drink. It was a little-known fact, but The Confessional made the best drinks the world around. It was because of the magic, you see, and that was in a literal sense; with every drink bought at The Confessional, came a little shot of blue sparks from Jack's fingertips. No one ever left the bar truly melancholy, because someplace between their pancreas and liver, there was a sense of hope, even if it was artificial for the time being.

Bloody Mary stirred her drink with the celery; no one else was buying drinks, so Jack pulled up his own stool, still polishing glasses and letting the sound wash over him.

"You see, Captain Holly met a boy."

"Oh?" Jack raised an eyebrow, slowing his polishing. He'd learnt tomes of knowledge from his patrons, and it always paid to listen. Besides, if he ever was in need of a good yarn to entertain him, all he needed to do was call on his memory.

"He wasn't one of The People, you see. And we never were in love," she smiled, eyes back in times past, "In fact, for quite some while I hated every fibre of his existence. But he had a way of making a mark on your memory, or your soul, if that's what you want to call it. I suppose _you've_ heard of Artemis Fowl the Second."

Jack smiled. "Even I've heard of him."

"Well, that was him. And he was special, in a different sense. Anyway, he died," she said, her voice so impartial that she _had to be kidding herself, "And here was this Short girl, thinking so highly of herself. Do you know what she does?"_

"You tell me."

Bloody Mary shook her head wearily. "This upstart, she goes above ground. Doesn't even get clearance for her shuttle. Wears her best and blackest, and attends his funeral. Council had her for it. Took her badge. Took her reputation along with it, as well. But this Short, she comes from a line of strong woman, and she says that she can go it alone."

She broke off. And laughed, laughed so loud and hard that tears streamed from her eyes, coursing their way down her bare throat.

"Just goes to show, eh, Jack. This proud Recon Captain. Three hundred years later, she's still sitting at the bar, telling her old story like it happened yesterday, to a lucky sod like you who hears a million of these a week. And life goes on. No one has anything to thank me for, and I've got no one to thank."

Jack polished a new glass thoughtfully. Bloody Mary – disgraced former LEP Captain, Holly Short – turned her bleary eyes to the jazz, and sipped at her drink. For two songs, the alcohol dwindled in the glass. She breathed deeply as she set the empty glass down on the counter, swaying slightly.

"Except you, mate."

"Pardon?" Jack picked up her glass and placed it in the dishwasher below the counter.

"You. I've got you to thank." Bloody Mary fished around in her pocket for some coins, and laid them on the counter one at a time. "You make the best damn Bloody Mary the world around."

She stood with an air of drunken pride, and for a moment LEPRecon Captain Holly Short shone through Bloody Mary, and then she was gone. 

The bell on the door tinkled, and that was the last time Jack Salvia ever saw her.

***


End file.
